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THE 



ITTLE #NES mm lEFORE. 



BY 



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REV. JOHN R. THURSTON. 




BOSTON : 
CONGREGATIONAL PUBLISHING SOCIETY, 

13 CORNHILL. 



/V7/ 



WASHINGTON 

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the'yea 

The Congregational Publishing Society, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



Boston : 
Stereotyped and Printed by Eand, Avery ^ & Frye. 



THESE PAGES, 
EXPRESSING THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY 

Wi)t drains iSefore of a ILtttk (BnZy 

HAVE BEEN WRITTEN WITH THE HOPE THAT THEY MAY GIVE 

SOME COMFORT TO OTHERS WHOSE HOMES HAVE 

BEEN ENTERED BY 

THE MESSENGER OF THE MASTER, 

TAKING HIS OWN TO HIMSELF. 

TO ALL SUCH ARE THEY DEDICATED. 
3 



There is no flock, however watched and tended, 

But one dead lamb is there ; 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 

But has one vacant chair. 

The air is full of farewells to the dying, 

And mournings for the dead : 
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, 

Will not be comforted. 

Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions 

Not from the ground arise ; 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise, 

— Longfellow. 




Little Ones Gone Before. 



A LITTLE one has gone from your 
home. When he came, great joy 
came with him. Did he first teach you 
mother-love, father-love, revealing with his 
first cry a deep fountain you knew not of, — 
a fountain full, rich, sacred. Or came he 
to share what others had revealed, and to 
increase it, lessening not their portion ? 
The pet and pride of the home is a babe, a 
lily perfuming 

" With pure blossom 
The house, — a lovely thing to wear 
Upon a mother's bosom." 

7 



8 LITTLE ONES 

You have lavished your heart's richest 
treasures upon it ; and the more you have 
given, the richer you have been, as 

" With a child's deep confidence, 
Which trusts you with illimitable trust, 
And with one look summons and wins your heart," 

it has nestled in your bosom, rested in 
your love. Every day has made it more 
precious, as the tendrils of affection have 
gone out and woven it all over with their 
strong tenderness. You, mother, have had 
a heart full of blessed content in your treas- 
ure of love. You, father, have watched 
with glad pride that face, full of growing 
beauty and promise. Together have you 
looked on bright visions of years to come, 
seeing the little one, now so tiny and help- 
less, blooming into womanly beauty or 
manly strength. Your hearts have swelled 



GONE BEFORE, 9 

with holy joy, as you have drunk of the 
cup of goodness the loving Father has 
given. 

Have you watched the little one through 
infant days ? It may be you have received 
him again, after threatening sickness, from 
the good God, who seemed to give him a 
second time, in answer to your prayer. 
Then did you feel secure in your treasure, 
and lived in the peaceful possession of your 
darling, in a home without a cloud. It was 
as heaven below. 

The good Father kindly kept what was 
before you hidden from your eyes. Not 
even a shadow of it fell on your path with 
its chill darkness. And how kind was he to 
hide it from you ! for, while " knowledge is 
good, pre-knowledge is not ; " and, had he 
told you what was coming, how impossible 
had been your joy and gladness ! 



10 LITTLE ONES 

He is good in shutting out the future, 
and giving bright hope to light up all its 
unknown. 

But at last the messenger came for the 
loved one. Did he come with silent foot- 
steps, that you heard not his approach, and 
with words so mingled that you hardly sus- 
pected his meaning } Or did he at once 
make known his errand, calHng loudly, and 
bursting open the door of your home to 
bear your little one away with violence of 
force ? 

Did you watch the ebbings and Sowings 
of life weary days and anxious nights } 
You swung between hope and fear. You 
pleaded, oh, how earnestly, for that life ! 
saying, " Spare, O God ! 

* Your heaven is full of angel forms : 
Mine holds but one.' " 



GONE BEFORE. II 

You agonized with your Father, pleading 
his own dear Son's name and love. But all 
was unavailing ; and at last the spirit fled, 
breathed out so sweetly that you only 
thought sleep had come to refresh the 
weary one with its rest, but 

" Smiling, he passed away unto His arms." 

Or borne out with such anguish of being, 
that every cry pierced your own soul, and 
it was relief to say, " He is through : the 
struggle is over." 

However death came, the little one is 
gone, and your spirit seemed, the half, to 
be gone with him. Then were the days 
of the border-land, between life and death, 
while you still retained the precious, sacred 
body, in which the spirit seemed to linger, 
giving it a holy beauty. You decked it in 
white for its final sleep. How lovely was 



12 LITTLE ONES 

it ! How you lingered over it, as you 
gazed on that face, the soul's doorway into 
the unseen ! Hot tears fell on it. Kisses 
warm and loving you gave to that marble 
brow, to those icy lips. It was sleep, beau- 
tiful sleep, all but that coldness so strange, 
and that stillness so deep. The form grew 
more dear each waiting day, until it seemed 
as if you could not part with it ; but you 
must. It was another death-struggle : 
friends wept with you, and made prepara- 
tions for the last holy rites. 

The man of God came, and, standing 
amid loving ones, gathered in the sacred 
silence of grief, prayed for the good Fath- 
er's love, for the sympathy and nearness of 
Him who wept at Bethany. You bore it 
away. Pleasant was it, if the bright sun 
smiled on you as you came to the sleeping- 
place of the dead, telling of the resurrection 



GONE BEFORE. 1 3 

light Or did the heavens lower in unison 
with your own clouded spirit? Dust was 
committed to dust ; and the earth hid from 
your sight the form so cherished and loved. 
You turned home again, to feel the full 
measure of your loss ; for all has been done, 
that can be done, for the idol of your heart. 
How changed is every thing, The little 
chair stands vacant, the cradle is still, the 
crib is empty, the playthings lie neglected, 
but all are sacred. Mother, your arms are 
empty, and your occupation is gone, if it 
was your only one. You put away the gar- 
ments, sprinkling them with tears. You 
listen for the sweet prattle in vain. " Papa," 
" Mamma," words doubly holy now ! you hear 
them not. Silence that may be felt reigns 
in the house. Or, if others are spared, 
there is a strain wanting in the harmony of 
their voices. You, father and mother, fall 



14 LITTLE ONES 

into each other's arms, to weep, to pray, to 
love even as never before. Did the life 
given bind you with new ties ? That life 
now translated makes these ties doubly 
sacred and strong. 

Let the tears flow. To weep is not un- 
manly, not unwomanly, not unchristian. 
Our Jesus, the one manly man of all time, 
wept when he looked on the bereaved in 
tears ; and may not we, when bereft of dear 
ones.^ Let them flow, until they perform 
their full and kindly ministry of relief. 

" Thank God for grace, 
Whoever weep ; albeit, as some have done, 
Ye grope tear-blinded, in a desert place, 
And touch but tombs, look up ! those tears will rur 
Soon in long rivers down the lifted face, 
And leave the vision clear for stars and sun." 

It is only when the hot fever of grief dries 
up the fountain of tears, that grief is for the 



GONE BEFORE. 15 

time hopeless and helpless. Then, oh how 
would tears relieve the oppressed spirit ! 

*^ If it could weep, it could arise and go." 

You realize now the sanctity of sorrow 
and its loneliness. You often feel that you 
would be alone. Any presence seems to 
profane the sacred temple of the soul. A 
word, even if it be of tender sympathy, al- 
most annoys it. The bruised spirit is so 
sore, the slightest touch hurts. Silent, un- 
uttered sympathy alone helps. 

You may be tempted to nurse your sor- 
row, to keep the wound open, fretting it 
with reflection. It seems to be loyal to the 
memory of the loved one gone, so to do. 
It may become thus absorbing, and master 
the soul. 

But comes there not a thought that grief 
thus supreme is not right, is not natural ? 



1 6 LITTLE ONES 

When the first tide of sorrow ebbs, we 
naturally and rightly look for relief. Not 
that we would forget our grief, or become 
insensible to it. No : but that we may bear 
it rightly, feel it no less keenly, but so feel it, 
that it shall not hinder, but help. And 
it is right for us to look for help. Besides, 
other duties call us. Happy are we if there 
be others left who demand our care and love. 
Whither shall we go for help "i Where is 
the balm for our wounded spirits 1 Where 
the strength for our weakness, with which 
we may bear, or do our work .? David went 
into the house of the Lord. He fled unto 
his God. So must we for true and lasting 
help. 

We go unto God, because he is the Sov- 
ereign Ruler over all ; and this loss has come 
by his ordering. 

It did not spring out of the ground. It 



GONE BEFORE. 1/ 

did not come of fickle chance or of iron 
fate. No : it was in the plan of Him who 
created and rules all things, without whom 
not a sparrow falls to the ground. 

He who gave, and from whom you re- 
ceived the treasure thanksgivingly, has now 
in his time taken. All the event, in its 
time and manner, in its pain and anguish, 
was in the plan of the perfectly wise and 
loving God, who can do no wrong. Here 
on this rock of the sovereign rule of the 
wise King, on this alone, can we really rest ; 
on this alone build any enduring peace ; 
from this alone draw any lasting peace. 

At first, when the blow falls with all its 
crushing power, it may be all we can do — 
to say with David " I was dumb ; I opened 
not my mouth ; because thou didst it." 
And we sit in silent amazement. We can- 
not see the reasons for it. We are like 



l8 LITTLE ONES 

very little children, who cannot understand 
their father s plans, even if he seek to ex- 
plain them. But we do know it is the 
Lord. And how much does this mean for 
us J 

Here is One who knows you completely. 
He knows how you loved that dear child, 
how your heart was bound to it. He 
knows how it seemed to you as if all your 
happiness was centred in it. You can tell 
him nothing of your heart's love, and de- 
sires, and anticipations^ which he does not 
know. 

And more, he is love as well as knowl- 
edge. He is our Father, with a heart as 
much more loving and tender than your 
mother-heart, your father-heart, as he is 
greater and wiser ; and there is not a desire 
of your soul for that child, not a pang com- 
ing from his death, which he does not 



GONE BEFORE, 1 9 

feel. He is pitiful : it is such an One who 
has decided this event in time and manner. 
Would you take the decision from his 
hands if you could ? Did you plead for the 
life with all the agony of a parent's love ? 
Did you cling to the hand of the merciful 
God, telling him of your need, and his ful- 
ness ? Ah ! would you then have dared to 
decide yourself, whether that life fluttering 
in the shadowed border-land, should go or 
stay? The impulse of affection might 
prompt you to say, *' Yes, let him stay." 
But had the good Father spoken with his 
voice tender and loving, and asked you if 
you would take the decision from his 
hands, you knowing so little what was best 
for yourself and the child, — you not able to 
look into the future for one hour ; he know- 
ing the end from the beginning, knowing 
what was best for all, — ah ! then, however 



20 LITTLE ONES 

much your parental heart might have 
yearned for the child, you would not have 
dared to take the responsibility from him. 
No, no : you must have said, " Let thy will 
be done, not mine!' And this because his 
will alone is well. Here only is safety. Ig- 
norance must not take the place of wisdom. 
And now that it is past, and your heart 
is bleeding from the wounds, how much 
does it mean for you that the little one has 
been taken by Him who is perfectly wise 
and loving ! Here is there rest and com- 
fort ; not that it is easy to see and feel this 
always. There may be frequent and sore 
conflict. Even this sure knowledge of 
God's wisdom and love in the event may 
not at once bring help. The heart yields 
not to reasoning ; and oftentimes 

" The reasoning down one's sorrow 
Seems to make one suffer the more." 



GONE BEFORE. 21 

Yet for all this, without this assurance, 
there would be no help at all, only blank 
despair; or worse, stoicism. Here alone 
can there be rational rest, — rest with your 
eyes open, and looking the sorrow full in 
the face. And we can find it here. Know- 
ing his wisdom and his love, we can bow in 
true surrender. We bow not because he is 
strong and we are weak, and it is vain to re- 
sist, but because he is the rightful King, 
and his rule is wise and loving. He alone 
can know what is best for us. He alone 
can plan well for us. And we accept his 
plan as here shown, not because we can see 
its wisdom in this event, but because it is 
his, and he knows and loves us perfectly. 
We can submit, though it may not be with- 
out a struggle. But surrendering thus, 
giving all up to him, there is sweet peace, 
there is a holy calm in the soul. And God's 



22 LITTLE ONES 

sovereign will becomes precious, comforting 
unto us. Many have, in such sorrow, first 
learned this, and their souls have rested on 
this rock. They have clung to it, though 
the waves have dashed over them. They 
have touched this rock, and the water of 
life has flowed into their souls. Here 
mourning one, under the shadow of the Al- 
mighty, here in the arms of the tender and 
loving God, is peace and comfort. And 
until you have given all up to him there 
can be none. Come with a countless host, 
and learn the peace and holy joy of surren- 
der to the loving and wise King and 
Father. 

Again, we would come to God in such 
times of bereavement, because he has les- 
sons to teach us by his providence, and we 
would be near him to learn them. 

In this sorrow, God is dealing with us 



GONE BEFORE. 2J 

as children. He is chastening. Does it 
seem almost cruel, loving mother, to sug- 
gest that you could need such a trial 1 
Was not your heart true and tender 1 Did 
you not rejoice with humble gratitude in 
the gift of God's love t Did you not feel 
your responsibility to nurture and train the 
immortal spirit for him 1 Yet we must 
believe that even in this, and through this, 
he is seeking your good. " He doth not 
afflict willingly, noV grieve the children of 
men." Yet he does afflict us. It must 
be because we need it. And as a loving 
Father who does not rejoice in our suffer- 
ing, he ministers no more than we need. 
As says Cecil, " No physician ever weighed 
out the medicine to his patient with half 
so much exactness and care as God weighs 
out to us every trial : not one grain too 
much does he' ever permit to be put in the 



24 LITTLE ONES 

scales." We must not forget that we are 
yet sinners. Is there not danger that we 
feel that we are so good that God ought to 
make all things flow smoothly with us ; and 
that, when he does not, he in some way 
wrongs us ? Does not trial reveal a great 
deal of this feeling in us ? But we know 
the corruption of sin is yet within us ; and 
we do need to be purified very much before 
we shall be perfect, even as our Father in 
heaven is perfect And he dealeth with us 
in love when he chastens. "Whom the 
Lord loveth, he chasteneth ; and scourgeth 
every son whom he receiveth." 

He may seek to correct faults ; as when 
you throw the gold impure with dross into 
the furnace, that it may come out of the 
heat purified. As the prophet says, " He 
shall sit as a Refiner and Purifier of silver ; 
and he shall purify the sons of Levi, and 



GONE BEFORE, 2$ 

purge them as gold and silver." As he 
himself declares, " I will bring the third 
part through the fire, and will refine them 
as silver is refined, and try them as gold is 
tried/' 

Or he may seek to develop higher and 
finer graces in us ; as you throw the iron 
into the furnace, heated seven times, and 
with the coal carbonize it, making it into 
fine steel, that shall be a hundred-fold more 
valuable. So God's chastening, though 
grievous, "yieldeth the peaceable fruit of 
righteousness unto them which are exercised 
thereby." 

When John saw some in heaven who 
were eminent in their white robes, he was 
told that they were they who had come out 
of great tribulation. 

Is God less loving in chastening than in 
his other blessings ? less loving in taking 



26 LITTLE ONES 

than in giving your darling now gone ? 
Have you a child that needs correction ? 
Are you less loving when you chastise it 
it may be sorely, than when you give it 
food and raiment, and gratify its desires ? 
No : it is because you love it so much you 
chasten. You love so much you cannot let 
it go uncorrected, though every stroke of 
the rod pierces your own soul. So God 
loves us so much he cannot forbear to 
chasten us. " Whom he loveth he chasten- 
eth." 

Are you less loving when you send your 
boy to school, with its tasks, its discipline 
its self-denials, its sacrifices, — less loving 
than when you let him go to his play .? 
No : only in this way can you make him 
strong and noble. So God wishes to 
strengthen us. So he wishes to make us 
into finer steel, with a temper like our 



GONE BEFORE. 2/ 

Lord's, who was made perfect by sufferings. 
And he loves us so much, he does not spare 
the needed suffering. 

We may not be able to see just what 
fault our Father would correct in us. We 
may err in seeking for any one sin or fault. 
And yet the sorrow may reveal those we 
little suspected before. We had thought 
we had yielded all to God, and had recog- 
nized his right to us and ours ; but, when he 
would take his own to himself, we found 
there was one treasure we were not willing 
to give up. We found, it may be, that, in 
our love of the gift, we were forgetting the 
Giver. Times of sorrow are times of self- 
revelation. Trial opens doors in our hearts, 
and shows us chambers of abominations 
we knew not of, and can now hardly believe 
belong to us. 

We may not see just what grace he 



28 LITTLE ONES 

wishes to produce in us, nor how this sor- 
row will develop it. But we do know he 
would bring us nearer to himself; would 
make us more loving, more gentle, more 
sympathizing ; make us set our affections on 
things above, and not on things beneath : 
would make us more meek and holy like 
Christ ; and therefore he visits us, and deals 
thus with us. The lessons of sorrow are 
not like those of our childhood's books, — all 
written out so that we can see their exact 
extent and meaning at a glance. They are 
rather like those of home, which we take in 
under the tuition of love, as we yield to it, 
little knowing its meaning at the time. So 
God breathes upon us many influences in 
sorrow, which, received with a submissive 
spirit, shall mould us into the fashion of our 
Master. 

Sorrow, that it may have this purifying 



GONE BEFORE. 29 

effect, must be real and deep. We should 
not try to beat it off, or forget it too soon 
in cares and pleasures, or cheat ourselves 
with false comforts. 

" Do not cheat thy heart, and tell her 
* Grief will pass away, — 
Hope for fairer times in future, 
And forget to-day/ 

Tell her, if you will, that sorrow 

Need not come in vain ; 
Tell her that the lesson taught her 

Far outweighs the pain. 

Bid her not * seek other pleasures, 

Turn to other things ; ' 
Rather nurse her caged sorrow 

Till the captive sings." 



" For as gold is tried by fire, 

So a heart must be tried by pain." 



30 LITTLE ONES 

God means that the blow shall hurt. He 
makes our hearts full of tender affections ; 
and, when he gives us children, he means 
that these affections shall go forth, and fas- 
ten on them, net them all over with their 
cords. These cords grow stronger, and 
more quickly sensitive, with every advan- 
cing month. These little ones, so locked in 
with our very souls, cannot be taken hence, 
without rending many tender ties ; and the 
heart must bleed when one of these is 
broken. You cannot tear that ivy, that 
has sent its little hands into a thousand 
crevices of yonder church-wall, you cannot 
tear it down, without breaking many a ten- 
dril : no more can God take away the dar- 
ling of your heart without your feeling, and 
feeling deeply. He means that we should 
love strongly : then must we suffer much 
when the loved are taken. We should not 



GONE BEFORE, 3 1 

Stifle grief. Only as we suffer can we 
know the refining effect of sorrow. If we 
would be greatly blessed, we must suffer 
greatly. Said one whose soul was sorely 
rent by the loss of a child of three, " Afflic- 
tions, in order to produce any permanent 
impression of a spiritual kind, must pow- 
erfully excite the natural sensibilities. A 
slight impression upon the feelings will be 
followed only by a slight religious effect, 
or, rather, by none at all. An affliction 
must be an affliction. Sanctified sorrow is 
deeply-seated sorrow. There may be, in- 
deed, a desperate grief, which is of the 
world, and worketh death. Nevertheless, 
when the Spirit of God blesses the soul by 
means of affliction, he first casts that soul 
into the furnace, perhaps seven times heat- 
ed. There is a stain of sin in our hearts, 
which nothing but the fuller's soap can 



32 LITTLE ONES 

wash out. There is a chamber of abomina- 
tions within us, which nothing but the 
torch of the refiner can enlighten, and the 
fire of the refiner purify. The great pur- 
pose of affliction is to take away sin.'* 

We may not, perhaps, pray that God 
would make us feel less, but feel rightly. 
If there be aught of murmuring or despair 
in our grief, we should plead that this be 
taken from us, but not so much that our 
hearts bleed less. 

There will be times when, after hours of 
calm and quiet, some memento of the loved 
one, some sudden vision of his happy face, 
some echo of his sweet prattle, a plaything 
of his, or some glance at his anguished 
form, will startle you ; and unbidden the 
strong emotion will swell up, and for a time 
whelm the soul with feeling, and flood the 
eyes with tears. Let them flow : stoicism 



GONE BE 1^0 RE. 33 

is not Christian nor human in its noblest 
style. We may not burden others with 
our grief ; but when 

" Impetuous with emotion, 
And anguish long suppressed, 
The swelling heart heaves moaning Hke the ocean, 
That cannot be at rest, 

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling 

We may not wholly stay ; 
By silence sanctifying, not concealing, 

The grief that must have way." 

If we weep submissively, seeing the hand 
of God in all, and because of it bowing, 
then may we say, — ^ 

" My dear Father, thinking fit to bruise, 
Discerns in silent tears both prayer and praise." 

While we suffer, and suffer much, in our 
chastening, we must not forget that in all 
this God is loving and tender. There is 



34 LITTLE ONES 

not a pang that he does not see, measure, 
and feel for us. He does not make us suf- 
fer for suffering's sake, but only for what 
suffering may do for us if rightly received. 

" His love is wise, 
His wounds a cure intend ; 
And, though He does not always smile, 
He loves unto the end." 

Even while he afflicts, he longs to com- 
fort us coming unto his arms, and to teach 
us of the fulness of his love, fill us with 
himself. " As one whom his mother com- 
forteth, so will I comfort you," does He say 
to tach of us. Oh, how much does this 
mean, fond mother, in whose arms your 
sobbing child nestles for relief, and to 
whom you give of your own calm and peace ! 
So would our Father comfort us while 
teaching us rich lessons of grace. Shall 



GONE BEFORE, 35 

we not come unto him to learn and be com- 
forted ? Do the heavens seem very dark, 
when you would draw near to God ? 
Seems he a great way off, as if he could 
not hear your voice as you cry unto him ? 
Still is he near : tears blind you that you 
see him not. Your own heart's beating 
fills your ears that you hear not the whis- 
perings of his love. But still do you press 
your way unto him ; lie before him, deter- 
mined not to go until he bless. Can you 
not put your sorrow into words 1 He knows 
it. Let him read it all, and wait until he 
shall give you of his own peace. Coming 
thus, he will sanctify unto you all your sor- 
row, giving unto you the beauty of hoUness, 
and the joy of his love. 

And we would come to God when he 
takes our little ones, because he reveals to 



36 LITTLE ONES 

US their gain in the change ; and in this we 
may find great comfort. 

For them we may not mourn : we know 
it is well with them. Had we high hopes 
of their future } had we glowing anticipa- 
tions t did we look on bright visions "i We 
know they will all be fully realized now, up 
where God has called them, although it be 
far away from us, and with much disap- 
pointment for us \ for we had hoped to look 
on all their growing beauty and grace. 
But God has called them up higher. 

"In our souls we heard our Father saying, 
'Will ye return the gift ? ' the Voice was low, 
The answer lower still, — ' Thy will be done.' " 

We heard the voice coming down from 
the great white throne, saying, " Suffer the 
little children to come unto me, and forbid 
them not." And though our parental fond- 



GONE BEFORE. 37 

ness would almost forbid, yet did he take 
them, — take them into his arms to bless 
them. And as the messenger approached 
heaven's gates, — 

" Back with melodious sound they sofdy flew, 
As if themselves instinct with sympathies 

Of welcome, and disclosed the scenes of bliss 
That lay beyond them, bathed in amber light." 

Yesj — 

"We almost saw Him meet her on the shore, 
And lead her through the golden gates, where 
never 
Sorrow or death can enter any more." 

Or did tears blind our eyes that we could 
not see.'^ Yet we know it was all real. 
And they are safe ; and their future is safe. 
Now we can have no fear of sin or sorrow 
for them. And did not some shadows of 



38 LITTLE ONES 

these fall on our brightest visions ? We 
knew they must come here. But these are 
not possible now. And, as we love them, 
we would not call them back. 

We may not know the specific things of 
that estate into which they are brought. 
We may not follow "their angel," as he 
leads them on from stage to stage of prog- 
ress. Yet we cannot doubt, that for them 
the exchange is a happy one. What is on 
our earthward side, death, with its chill and 
shadows, is on the other side birth into a 
new and higher life, with its light and joy. 
We know while we mourn our loss, and 
possibly attendant angels cast a look of 
sympathy as they see our natural and rea- 
sonable sorrow, — we know that they must 
rejoice as another ransomed one is brought 
home safe. Nor are we forbidden to pic- 
ture the scenes into which they have 



GONE BEFORE, 39 

passed, keeping within the limits of the 
word of God. 

Mrs. Browning has expressed this gain 
of the dying infant, and has told a mother's 
experience in parting with one, most beau- 
tifully in her '' Isobel's Child." 

The mother had sent the nurse, weary 
with her eight days' watching, to rest. She 
takes the babe in her arms, and looks on it 
with a mother's love and yearning. As she 
looks, she prays, — prays for its life, plead- 
ing with all the fervor of a mother's heart. 

"^The earth doth cover 
No face from me of friend or lover : 
And must the first who teacheth me 
The form of shrouds and funerals be 
Mine own first-born beloved 1 He 
Who taught me first this mother-love ? 
Dear Lord, who spreadest out above 
Thy loving, transpierced hands to meet 
All lifted hearts with blessings sweet, — 



40 LITTLE ONES 

Pierce not my heart, my tender heart, 
Thou madest tender ! Thou who art 
So happy in thy heaven alway, 
Take not mine only bliss away ! ' 

" She so had prayed ; and God, who liears 
Through seraph-songs the sound of tears, 
From that beloved babe had ta'en 
The fever and the beating pain/ 

Now she goes on to picture what her boy 
will become in the future. After she had 
satisfied her heart with these bright visions, 
the babe wakes ; but he wakes not with a 
baby look, but with the thoughtful look of 
years. And he speaks and pleads with 
that mother, — 

"'O mother, mother, loose thy prayer ! 
Christ's name hath made it strong ! 
It bindeth me, it holdeth me. 
With its most loving cruelty. 
From floating my new soul along 
The happy, heavenly air. 



GONE BEFORE. 4 1 

" * It bindeth me, it holdeth me ! — 
Mine angel looketh sorrowful 
Upon the face of God." 

Thus it pleads, and contrasts the joys of 
earth with those of heaven : — 

" ^ Is your wisdom very wise, 
Mother, on the narrow earth ? 
Mother, albeit this be so. 
Loose thy prayer, and let me go 
Where that bright chief angel stands 
Apart from all his brother bands. 
Too glad for smiling : 
He the teacher is for me ! 
He can teach what I would know : 
Mother, mother, let me go ! 

" ' Let me to my heaven go. 
A little harp me waits thereby, — 
A harp whose strings are golden all, 
Hanging upon the green life-tree. 
Shall I miss that harp of mine ? 



42 LITTLE ONES 

Mother, no ! — The eye divine, 
Turned upon it, makes it shine ; 
And when I touch it, poems sweet, 
Like separate souls, fly from it. 

" ' And love ! earth's love ! and can we love 

Fixedly where all things move ? 

Loose thy prayer, and let me go 

To the place which loving is. 

Yet not sad. And when is given 

Escape to thee from this below. 

Thou shalt behold me that I wait 

For thee beside the happy gate ; 

And silence shall be up in heaven 

To hear our meeting kiss." 

That mother does loose her prayer, and 
let her babe go. Thus she sings : — 

" ^ I changed the cruel prayer I made, 
And bowed my meekened face, and prayed 
That God would do his will. And thus 
He did it, nurse : he parted us^ 
And his sun shows victorious 



GONE BEFORE. 43 

The dead, calm face ; and I am calm, 
And heaven is hearkening a new psalm.' " 

The sight of heaven helps the loving 
soul to bow, and find sweet refuge in God's 
will. 

"Breaking the narrow prayers that may 
Befit our narrow hearts, away 
In His broad, loving will." 

Some things we may know of the estate 
of the child departed. 

He has not gone into the cold and dark, 
to be the sport of matter and force. It 
may have seemed so to us, as with our 
weak vision we in vain strove to follow the 
departing spirit, and as we laid the body, 
still bearing the impress of the spirit, in the 
cold and cheerless grave. But he is not in 
that grave. He has gone out into a per- 
sonal world, a world of loving beings ; gone 



44 LITTLE ONES 

up nearer to the infinite heart of God, the 
Father of us all ; gone from our love, imper- 
fect at best, — 

" Into the very world of love itself." 

Does it seem to you, Mother, that he 
must still need your love and care, the lit- 
tle one so dependent as he has been upon 
you, calling every hour for watch and work, 
and drinking in of your love ? Does it 
seem as if it could not be that he can do 
without these ? Ah ! he has better. The 
good God, who made your heart with all its 
wealth of love, is he not more loving still t 
But you say, " He is mine. It is my moth- 
er-love he needs ; his right to receive, and 
mine to give." But is he not God's child 
too } Is it not he 

*' Who made him, and had the most right in him ? " 



GONE BEFORE, 45 

And is it not your child's right to receive 
that infinite Father-love, and that Father's 
right to give, as well as yours ? 

When he went forth, he went where the 
same God who gave, and who had cared for 
him thus far through you, can still care for 
him, seeing every want, regarding every 
need. There is room for a countless host 
of little ones in his heart. The Saviour's 
arms are never full. And each one of all 
these throngs has an individual interest 
and love. 

He has gone, too, where there are other 
persons, loving and kind, having individual 
feelings and interests, -— angels who minis- 
ter to the heirs of promise, and the saints, 
how many that have been dear to you on 
earth, it may be, many of your own family 
and all loving. 

Yet with all these, the best of all, that 



4-6 LTTTLE ONES 

which alone is sufficient for all places, times, 
and needs, is the infinite love of God and 
his Son. Here there is safety, and full sup- 
ply for all the wants of your children gone 
before. 

Still, too, is the little one yours. Though 
gone, not lost. Still may you, mother, say, 

*' Still mine ! — maternal rights serene 
Not given to another ! 
The crystal bars shine faint between 
The souls of child and mother." 

Or with another : — 

So Willie has gone, — my beauty, my eldest born, 

my flower. 
But how can I weep for my Willie ? he has gone 

but for an hour ; 
Gone for a minute, my son I from this room into 

the next. 
I, too, shall be gone in a minute : what time have 

I to be vexed ? '' 



GONE BEFORE. 47 

This suggests another blessed thing re- 
vealed, — that we may go to them. The be- 
reaved David said, " I shall go to him, but 
he shall not return to me." And with this 
he consoled himself. Those loved ones 
have gone before us, and they beckon to us 
from the farther shore to follow and meet 
them. Of this privilege of going to them 
we have no doubt. The same Saviour calls 
us, with full promise of life and immortali- 
ty, and that he will come and take his own 
to himself, to be with him where he is. 

And what comfort there is in this fact, 
in all this sorrow ! How much more real 
now seems heaven to us, — that one so 
recently here is now there, — there with the 
same powers, the same love ! 

How much nearer, too, seems heaven ! 
The way there for our little one was very 
short. Now was he here, and in a moment 



48 LITTLE ONES 

gone. He is there ; and what attraction is 
there towards that world, since our heart 
has gone out with that loved one, — out 
into its realities ! Have you not some- 
times in the still hours of the night, — have 
you not almost heard the voice of singing 
from that dear child, and his touchings of 
the golden harp ? 

May not this be one of God's designs to 
draw us heavenward ? Does he see us rest- 
ing in earth, seeking here our good ? He 
takes our best earthly treasure, and carries 
it thither, that our loving hearts may fol- 
low, and we may get some longing for that 
world. Does he see earthly things very 
real for us, but heavenly ones very dim ? 
He takes a real being from our side, with 
whom our very soul is interlocked, and lifts 
him up higher, that we may believe and 
feel the reality of heaven. And will we 



GONE BEFORE, 49 

only hear his voice, heaven may become 
now very near and very precious. Our 
souls may live there largely while here be- 
low, — there where is our citizenship and 
our home, there in the land for which we 
were born. Thither God takes our treas- 
ures for safe keeping. See you them not t 

" Thine eyes 
Are blinded by their tears, or thou wouldst see 
Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies ; 

And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee." 

Is there not at times almost a lon(^in<? to 
go and meet the one gone } 

" There is a beautiful region above the skies, 
And I long to reach its shore ; 
For I know I shall find mv treasure there, 
The laughing eyes, and the amber hair, 
Of the loved one gone before." 

And are there not other loved ones there, 
— so many that you can say, — 



50 LITTLE ONES 

" It is borne beyond the grave : the. most are there.*' 

Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, friends 
many and dear. Now a new one is added 
to the great company of redeemed ones 
waiting. 

As you look on these things, can you 
not say, — 

" Our love was well divided ; 
Its sweetness following where she went, 
Its anguish staid where I did. 

Well done of God, to halve the lot, 
And give her all the sweetness ! 

To us the empty room and cot ; 
To her the heaven's completeness. 

To us the grave ; to her the rows 
The mystic palm-trees spring in : 

To us the silence in the house ; 
To her the choral singing \ 



GONE BEFORE, SI 

For her to gladden in God's view ; 

For us to hope and bear on. 
Grow, Lily, in thy garden new, 

Beside the Rose of Sharon. 

Grow fast in heaven, sweet Lily, clipped, 
In love more calm than this is ; 

And may the angels, dewy-lipped. 
Remind thee of our kisses ! 

While none shall tell thee of our tears, — 
Those human tears now falling ; 

Till, after a few patient years, 
One home shall take us all mJ*^ 

Yes : you may meet your loved one gone, 
grown in God's home and school into all 
beauty, — 

" Not as a child shall we again behold her ; 
For when, with raptures wild. 
In our embraces we again infold her, 
She will not be a child, 



52 LITTLE ONES 

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, 

Clothed with celestial grace, 
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion, 

Shall we behold her face." 

It is our privilege in bereavement to 
come thus to God, our King and our 
Father. And is there not with him all 
needed consolation and help } True at 
times, and it may be often, our sorrow will 
come upon us anew : then must we flee unto 
him ; sweetly submitting to him, asking 
him to teach us all his holy will, and fashion 
us in every grace. Here we may look on 
what he has revealed of the estate of 
the loved one gone. Coming thus unto 
him, may we not return to Life's work 
strengthened with Heaven's holy calm } 
May we not make holy the place vacant of 
the child, by receiving more of God there- 



GONE BEFORE. 53 

in, until we shall learn to walk with him 
" as dear children " ? 

May we not also find our love of the 
cherished child, though he is gone, still 
precious ? So that we shall feel 

" 'Tis better to have loved and lost, 
Than never to have loved at all." 

And shall we not, by this experience, 
learn to care more tenderly for the loved 
ones still remaining ? for 

"All are not taken : there are left behind 
Living beloveds, tender looks to bring.'' 

Shall we not grow more like our Lord 
in all gentleness and tenderness, ready and 
able, now as never before, to weep with those 
who weep, and to bear their burdens ? Our 
Father seeks by this trial to make us more 
and more his children. Shall we not, com- 



54 LJ7 7LE ONES 

ing unto him, learn the lesson, and grow in 
all Godlikeness ? We may, and may carry 
much of heaven with us, for the joy and 
blessing of others ; and be able to say for 
ourselves, " It is good for me that I have 
been afflicted." 



GONE BEFORE. 55 

"ONLY SEVEN YEARS OLD WHEN 
SHE DIED." 

" Only seven years old when she died ! 
Surely the angels must love her dearly ! 
Bright golden-haired and violet-eyed, 
None could look on her face severely. 
There are children as many as the flowers ; 
But never was one more sweet than ours, — 
The latest bud on an aged tree, 
Where blossom again may never be. 
Once I held up my head with the best, 
Crowned with three flowers of promise bright ; 
Two — two of the fairest — Death tore from my 

breast. 
Five years ago, in the self-same night. 
She was the only one left to me ; 
And I prayed with groans of agony 
That burst from my heart, a mingled prayer 
Of hope, and doubting, black despair, 
That He who doeth wisely whatever betide 
Would be willing to leave her aye by my side, 



56 LITTLE ONES 

Still blessing her richly with increase of days. 
It may be He heard 7nej but ah I His ways 
Are not ours : from the heavenly place 
Perhaps she Ughteth our life with grace. 

Only seven years old when she died ! 

Yet the hope of two life-times died with her. 

We had not a wish the world wide, 

Save that we had gone out on the tide with her, — 

The tide that has borne them all away, — 

Sybil, and Avis, and now little May ! 

The ebb that never knows turn or flow, , 

However the full moons come or go. 

But I would not murmur : no complaint 

Breaks from the lips, asleep or awake. 

Of the mother who bore her, making a feint 

Of being content for my lovers sake. 

But sometimes her hand clings to her heart ; 

And at certain hours she sits apart, 

And the golden light of sunset skies 

Brings a far-off look into her eyes. 

And I fear me much that her treasure in heaven 

Her heart from its earth-hold has almost riven ; 



GONE BEFORE. 5/ 

And soon, hearing the voice of her children three, 
She, too, will drift out to that unknown sea, — 
The sea of glass for her it should be. 
God help me ! What then will become of me ? 

Only seven years old when she died ! 
How our old hearts took young delight in her, — 
Our hourly pleasure, our hope, our pride ! 
Well, He who made her had the most right in her! 
We took her from Him thanksgivingly ; 
We gave her back — no, not willingly. 
But not with repining, — God forbid ! 
Yet / thifik that he pardons^ that we did 
Falter a while, and fail in our praise, 
Missing the key to which it was set, 
For a sweet child-treble in happier days, 
The old tune haunts our memory yet. 
And we scarce can read, for tears, the page 
Of blessings left to our altered age. 
Our lives, once "fallen in pleasant places," 
Blankly stare in our darkened faces ; 
And our harps on the willows of grief hang low; 
But God omniscient has known whatever we 
know. 



58 LITTLE ONES 

Once the harpings of heaven ceased suddenly, 
And his heart was thrilled by a bitter cry, — 
The cry of his Son's last agony : 
He knows what we felt when we saw her die. 

Only seven years old when she died ! 

Passed from the earth ere she learned its history. 

Now she stands up with the glorified. 

Fully as wise in the heavenly mystery 

As they who through great tribulation 

Fought their way up from every nation, 

Leavened their world with their life-blood warm, 

Carried the kingdom of heaven by storm. 

Sometimes still they talk of their story, — 

How they suffered and conquered and died, 

Cleft a path on through the cloud to the glory ! 

She stands listening, wonder-eyed. 

Nought she knew of toil or endeavor, — 

Mother's arms were around her ever, 

Little of sorrow, doubt, or despair. 

Half she questions her right to be there, — 

She, who has nothing suffered or done, — 

Till, suddenly smiling, she looks to the Son, 



GONE BEFORE. 59 

And, folding her pretty hands reverently, 
Lisps out her child-creed most confidently, — 
The same she learned at her mother's knee : 
He said, ' Let the little ones come to me.' 

Only seven years old when she died ! 
Seventy long years, yea, and more years still, 
We have clambered and clung to the side. 
She stands even now at the top of the hill. 
Bright in the beams of the morning light ! 
Ours, at the best, is a starry night. 
We toil on through the dust and the heat : 
She sitteth calm at the Master's feet, 
Reading the truth of his love-lit face. 
Answering him back glad smile for smile. 
We tremblingly shriek out for grace, ^' Lord, 

more grace ! " 
Dreading to meet his look all the while. 
So spotted our souls, and moiled with sin. 
She shows, stainless without and within, 
A snow-white soul, in a robe like snow. 
Weary and way-worn and sad we go, 
Sorely doubting if, after our course be done, 



6o LITTLE ONES GONE BEFORE. 

Our life-lasting tourney well battled and won, 
When the Judge stands up the awards to divide, 
We shall be worthy to stand by her side 
Whose sword was ne'er fleshed, whose strength 

w^as ne'er tried, 
Who was only seven years old when she died." 
Chambers^ Journal^ 1869. 



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